Trevors, Heyes, and Curry walked down the stairs slowly in silence, not meeting each other's eyes. They hardly knew what to think about the meeting they had just left. Heyes had certainly not talked anyone into anything, nor had any of them had much opportunity to plead any cause. The Governor knew the situation and had told them what he could and could not do. They trio was left having to wait with no guarantee, as the governor had said, of what, if anything, they would learn in May.
The three walked down the street back toward the train station. Curry and Heyes did not dare to stay the night in this town where their names and descriptions were about as well known as the mayor's, or the governor's. Truthfully they were far better known than either politician. But they dared not assume that they were more popular!
And besides, they had their guns and other belongings to pick up from the not very dependable lockers in the train station. It was perilous to be long without their weapons. They walked through streets that looked very strange to Curry and Trevors at night. The city of Cheyenne was brightly illuminated by the newly invented incandescent lights that they had not seen in any other western town. Heyes, of course, knew electric lights from parts of New York City.
The three did not walk together in the artificial brightness that could disclose their faces all too clearly to passersby. That close a juxtaposition of Curry's and Heyes' features in this town, or this territory, could be fatal. Heyes silently took the lead alone, with Curry and Trevors a good twenty paces behind him. The Kid watched Heyes walk, hands in his pockets as they often were when he had no pistol grip to lean on, his head at an angle in distracted thought, kicking his glossy black eastern riding boots in the dust. Heyes had always been just a bit gimpy, ever since a bad childhood accident with a horse. But now, it seemed to the wincing Kid, that his partner limped noticeably – ever since Curry had shot him in the hip. It was strange, actually, for Curry to see his partner this way distantly from the back – usually they walked side by side.
The three did not even take the risk of speaking before going their separate ways on three separate trains. Trevors departed first, after only about an hour, going north-west.
For the next hour plus, Curry and Heyes paced up and down in separate paths under the grand vaults of the station's ceiling, trying not to meet and yet desperate to be together before this next long parting. They passed each other periodically near the center of the elaborately ornamented lobby. As they came nearly together, they could speak under their breaths for a few seconds at a time. Heyes whispered, "What happened to your good New York suit?"
"Moths ate it last summer!" hissed Curry back. Heyes choked back a laugh.
As they passed again ten minutes later, the Kid muttered sarcastically, "Brilliant negotiator!"
"House of cards!" countered Heyes.
Fifteen minutes later the partners crossed paths again, Heyes starting to murmur, "That man . . ."
Curry finished his sentence, "actually seems pretty reasonable."
About seventeen minutes later Heyes was able to reply. "Yeah, he does."
"Best from Cat," said the Kid.
"And to her from Beth and me," responded Heyes. He stopped and looked into his partner's troubled blue eyes, but a porter started to stare at them and they nervously parted ways again.
A few minutes later, Curry left on a south bound train.
Heyes was left to wait for terrifying hours by himself, pacing up and down. Was that a sheriff watching him? No, the glance of light off the man's chest came from a stick pin, not a tin star. Did he know the ragged cowboy there waiting for a train? No, as he grew closer, the man's face was utterly unfamiliar. Heyes turned from every glance, friendly or no, in fear that someone would recognize his infamous dimpled features.
Finally, well after midnight, Heyes took a train east. As always, he dreaded meeting anyone he had known out west. Nearly any such encounter could be disastrous – or even fatal. But Heyes finally fell asleep near morning, snoring under his old black had as his train chugged back to New York City and Columbia University.
When Heyes finally arrived in New York, four days later, his "spring break" had scarcely justified its name. He had known nothing but stress and worry and exhaustion. He had his first class that very afternoon. As Heyes trudged to class, wrinkled and dirty, he met his friend Neal George. Heyes was raggedly shaven and a bit nicked from trying to use a straight razor on the rattling train. His saddle bags were thrown over his shoulder. There had been no time to return to his rented room. "What the heck, Smith?" asked Neal George.
"Don't ask, NG, just don't ask!" said Heyes in a hoarse voice. So NG didn't. But he did wonder.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
"So," Heyes told Beth and the Homers, in the privacy of the Homers' apartment much later that night, "that's where we stand. It might be nowhere."
"I wish to God that you could count on even having the same governors to deal with from year to year," said Charlie Homer thoughtfully, over his wife's good roast beef, "but those territorial governors are political appointees and those posts are total political footballs. Back and forth with every shift of the wind."
"That's for sure," said Heyes. "There've been six changes of Wyoming Territorial governor since we asked for amnesty in '83 – six! Six changes – not six governors – Warren has held it twice and so did Morgan. And that's just Wyoming Territory – there've been six changes in Montana – including their just becoming a state, three in Colorado, and thank goodness only one in Texas! If they could be from the same party it might be child's play!"
"No, Heyes" laughed Marie, "it never would be! They're all politicians!"
"That's for sure!" agreed Beth. "They do put you through it, poor Heyes and poor Kid! Well, they'll be no change in me!"
Homer, Mrs. Homer, and Beth all raised their wine glasses and so did Heyes. His friends would remain true through it all, he felt sure. He just wished that all of his friends could know the truth. It really bothered Heyes to hide so much from Huxtable, Ev, and NG, not to mention Tom O'Keeffe and so many others.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
It was a sweltering Tuesday afternoon and the last exam of the spring semester had just let out for Heyes a bit over a month after his return from Wyoming. He headed for the math lounge, which was even scroungier and dumpier looking than usual this time of year, with bits of food and paper and assorted trash scattered all over the aging, stained furniture. There Joshua Smith met up with Ev and NG. "So, last exam of the semester! Undergrad is gone for good!" exclaimed Ev in high spirits. NG looked more relieved than elated – he wasn't sure how he had done on his last exam.
"Let's get out of here and go enjoy the spring air, boys!" suggested Heyes. "I purely can't stand one more minute in this grimy old building. What about heading for Central Park and seeing what's going on there?"
"Sounds good to me, Kansas!" exclaimed Paul Huxtable, who was just arriving from his own last exam. He jumped up to tag the top of the lounge's door frame playfully. "Another ace!" The others laughed – Huxtable always aced exams, at least so far as they ever heard. His consistently high class placements supported his boasts amply.
An earnest young woman in a conservative suit and glasses put her head into the lounge. They all recognized her vaguely as an employee in the administrative offices of their college within Columbia University - Columbia College - but no one knew her name. "Is Joshua Smith here?" she asked.
"Yes, Miss. That's me," said Heyes, unsure what this would be about. Could it possibly be the amnesty coming through, despite what the Governor had said?
The young office worker looked at him with a smile. "Could you please come and meet with the Dean of Columbia College on," she looked down at a pad of paper, "Thursday at 11:00AM?"
"Yes, Miss, I'll be there," said Smith docilely. It wouldn't do to ignore the dean. He was a nice guy, but he was a dean. "What's it about, do you know?" asked Heyes, brushing his now very long hair back from his face for about the hundredth time that day. It had been months since he had had time or attention to spare for a haircut.
"It is nothing to be discussed in public," the young office worker said discretely, looking back and forth at Smith's friends.
"Oh," said Heyes, barely suppressing a grin. Now he did have high hopes!
"And Mr. Huxtable, if you could come to see the Dean at 11:30?" added the young lady.
"Yes, Miss," answered Huxtable with a smirk. Clearly, he had his own ideas of what these appointments were about, and it didn't seem a bad thing. Heyes revised his own hopes. Huxtable sure wasn't getting amnesty, too! And Heyes supposed that any news about amnesty would come to him through Charlie or Lom or both of them before the Dean. He might even get a wire from the Kid or from the governor himself first thing of all. After all, last Heyes knew, the dean of Columbia College did not yet know who Smith really was!
Heyes still had a series of potentially disastrous revelations to make to two levels of administration before he left Columbia University. With Charlie Homer's support, he hoped that he could survive it, but there was no doubt that it would be the most dangerous point in his academic career – and quite possibly the end of it.
Come Thursday morning at 11:00 sharp, Heyes, suited and brushed, with brightly polished shoes and a fresh hair cut, was sitting in the waiting room outside of the Columbia College administrative offices. "Mr. Smith?" called an anonymous young male secretary, "Would you please come in?"
Heyes walked into the elegantly furnished office with the appearance of perfect calm, despite a powerful mix of emotions churning inside him.
"Mr. Smith!" exclaimed the portly dean, emerging from behind his polished desk to shake Smith's hand. "Please accept my congratulations on yet another distinguished semester! You seem to take to graduate work extremely well."
"Thank you very much, sir!" It was strange for Heyes to hear such enthusiasm from a man he had only rarely met or even seen. Evidently, Joshua Smith's reputation on paper and between administrators was a very fine one. Smith smiled with all the restraint he could manage. It was a very sweet moment to have come to the end of his undergraduate career without open disaster, at least so far as the college administration knew. He might even salvage a bit of triumph if the law did not intervene.
The dean gestured for Smith to take a seat in the luxuriously padded chair opposite his desk.
"I will come straight to the point, Smith," said the dean in a friendly baritone. "You have succeeded in graduating at the head of the class of Columbia College. Congratulations!" The dean leaned across his desk to shake Joshua Smith's hand once again.
"Thank you!" said Heyes, a bit stunned. As his classes had grown more difficult from year to year, and as his personal life had failed at times in serenity, his grades had not remained as stellar as they had when he had been a freshman. But evidently, no one else at in the college, the largest at the University, had kept to that earlier level either! Heyes was wondering why the dean had bothered to summon a student to his office in order to give him this academic news.
The dean spoke now in ringing ceremonial phrases, "Mr. Smith, we would be privileged if you would agree to attend the Columbia College spring convocation of 1890 as our valedictorian." For a long moment Heyes could not speak at all. This honor from his college caught him utterly off guard. It was not at all automatic for the holder of the top grade average to be granted this supreme honor. The student had also to be considered exemplary in every way – in the classroom and out. The valedictorian was considered the finest and most honorable man at the college. Heyes had never in his life been considered by anyone to be anything approaching that. He blinked back tears.
But it was not only being offered his ultimate honor that stunned Heyes. It was the knowledge that he had no time at all to figure out some rational grounds for refusing it.
Heyes had not yet heard anything from the Territorial Governor of Wyoming. He could be summoned away to the West at any moment to stand trial. Were he to act as valedictorian, he could be escorted from the stage of the convocation in handcuffs. And most particularly, he could not accept any such honor under any name except that of Hannibal Heyes. Which name he could not reveal to the Dean now – and might not ever be able to.
"I thank you very much, sir, but . . . I cannot accept that honor," said Heyes in a low voice barely more than a whisper, bowing his head.
"Smith, I know all about your aphasia," said the Dean, in comforting tones, "You must surely know that the valedictorian of Columbia College, despite the title, does not have to speak. He, well, he just shakes hands with people. That's all that's required. The number two honor – the Salutatorian – is the one who has the work of speaking."
"That isn't it, sir," said Heyes very quietly, looking into the dean's shocked grey eyes.
The rotund dean was not angry – merely completely baffled and worried, "Then what in God's name is it, Smith? There is no precedent for this! No one has ever refused this honor before! There just isn't any reason to! It doesn't demand anything of you at all."
Heyes looked down and said even more quietly, "Sir, it demands the truth, does it not?" He was not proud of himself at all at this moment.
"Of course, Mr. Smith," answered the dean with dignity.
Heyes kept his voice absolutely level, "Well, this is as much of the truth as I can tell you. You are offering this honor to Joshua Smith. That is not my name."
"What!?" The dean was shocked and perplexed, but still the man was not angry and he did not attack this mysterious student. He merely asked, "If Smith isn't your name, what is your name?"
"I can't tell you that," said Heyes in a monotone.
"Are you the man who earned Joshua Smith's string of academic honors?" inquired the dean.
"Yes, sir. I am," said Heyes without a trace of pride.
The dean was bending over backwards to be understanding, "Then we'll change the name on the diploma to whatever your real name is. That needn't be a problem."
"But it is a problem – because I can't tell you the name that needs to go on the diploma," said Heyes sadly.
The dean remained an exceptionally fair man who was simply trying to understand the situation and make it as right as he possibly could. "Why in heaven's name not?"
But the recalcitrant student refused to make any accommodation possible. "I can't tell you that, Dean. There will be a moment when I can tell you – probably - but it hasn't come yet. I've been waiting for more than six years for that permission and I don't have it yet. I might never get it."
"From whom do you have to get this permission?" asked the dean with commendable patience.
Heyes understood acutely the trouble he was causing, but it didn't change the need for secrecy, "I'm sorry to say that I can't tell you that, either. Only to tell you that's it's from four men – all of them higher ranking than anyone at this University. I would be breaking my word to them, and to a number of other people whom I value, if I told you anything further. I can only say that it is, literally, a matter of life or death. That is all that I can or will say on the matter."
The dean began to see a tiny glimmer of light in this otherwise obscure situation, "So you are refusing this singular honor in order to protect someone's life?"
Heyes nodded, realizing that, with this honorable dean, this revelation would provide him with the means to avoid making any others, "Yes, sir. More lives than one."
"I assume that you cannot tell me whose lives?" The dean said with no hope that "Smith," would contradict him.
"No, sir. I cannot."
The dean stopped and thought for a moment. Then he said, "In that case, I cannot possibly ask more of you, sir, whoever you really are. I salute you for acting with as much honor as any valedictorian ever could." He stood to shake Heyes' hand again, this time in solemn respect.
But Heyes refused the dean's hand. He put his head in his hands with his eyes closed. He opened his eyes and looked at the dean. "I'm the biggest rat ever born, Dean. I cannot hide self-interest behind the veil of honor. One of those lives is my own."
"Do you really think that honor demands your death!" the dean proclaimed, horrified, "You have the right to live, S . . . whatever you name is. And so does whoever else you are protecting – or at least, I trust that he or she does."
"I am convinced of that, sir. Since you seem to believe in me, I sincerely hope that within a year I will be able to explain all of this to you. You might even laugh when you learn the truth, dean. But it isn't funny to me."
The dean smiled with extraordinary understanding, "I suppose not - well I guess I must continue to call you Smith. Regrettably, it sounds as if we will be unable to graduate you at all – this year. When you can give us your real name, we will very gladly put it on what by then should be two diplomas and give them to you with the high honors that you have rightfully earned. Good luck."
Heyes shook the dean's ample hand. "Thank you very much, sir. I deeply appreciate your understanding. I apologize for having to refuse the honor you have offered me. Were the situation anything other than what it is, I would accept it as easily the greatest honor of my life.
But I believe you have someone else waiting out front who can and will accept the honor, and who is totally worth of it, as I cannot be. I must ask that you not share what I have told you with anyone except the President of this University and Professor Charles Homer. And I must ask that all of you promise not to share this with anyone whatsoever." Heyes did not dare to say, "Even with the police." Even for this most understanding of deans, that would make it very obvious that he was promising more than he could or should.
He dean nodded. "I will comply with that request. I wish I knew why, but if human life is at stake, that is enough for me."
Heyes turned on his heel and left, as the dean stood and watched him in puzzlement and respect. Heyes looked past Paul Huxtable who sat in the outer office waiting to accept the honor that his friend had just refused. Huxtable looked after the grave, silently retreating figure of his friend, desperately wondering what had just gone on in the office he was about to enter. The tangle of mysteries surrounding the man he knew as Joshua Smith only got denser and darker as time went by.
The secretary, having no idea of what had just gone on in the next room, now called Huxtable in.
"Mr. Huxtable," asked the dean, "How well do you know Joshua Smith?"
"Very well, sir." Said Huxtable. "But there is an awful lot I don't know about him."
"Do you know what's worrying him?" asked the dean.
"Not really." Huxtable was taken aback, "Well a little of it . . ." What might the dean ask of him – and how much could he say - or refuse to say?
The dean held up a restraining hand. "Don't tell me anything! Not a word. I only want him to be safe. I don't ask you to reveal anything to me, but I do ask that you and your mutual friends please watch that man's back as much as you can."
"Yes, sir," said Paul Huxtable, "We always do. And he watches ours."